Moral Indignation
“dad”
“please”
“sign me out”
“for 4th period”
The above series of texts pop onto my phone in immediate succession late Thursday afternoon as I sit in my basement home office.
They are from my youngest—the one who changed her contact name in my phone to “Annie, favorite child.”
She wants me to sign her out of her fourth period class—the last one of today.
(Don’t ask.)
I log into the school’s absence web-portal, enter her student ID, verify that I am her father, and choose “Appointment” from the drop-down menu.
I suppress my urge to fill the optional “Notes” field with ”She’s a really good kid, and I’m proud of her.”
The dogs alert me she’s arrived home.
Grabbing my water bottle, I go up to the kitchen where this spectacular, confident near adult stands.
“What’s up?” I ask, “Feeling OK?”
“Yeah, I just didn’t want to go to chem.”
“What!?!” I think, but don’t say, “You need to learn chemistry!”
The word “temerity” floats in my head as I prepare a tirade.
However, I can’t figure out what she is doing or has done wrong.
She maintains a perfect grade of 4.0 in every class. So, why am I so mad?
She fills the silence, “I’m caught up, and we weren’t doing anything today.”
I keep my mouth shut forcing her to fill the silence, “Well, I’m going to Dutch . Do you want anything?”
“Yes,” I reply, “I want to teach you a dad quote. The cost of skipping a class.”
“Dad!”
“Fewer than five minutes, probably two.”
***
She walks toward the living room as I follow and teach.
“H.G. Wells said this one.”
“You are such a dad.”
“Nonetheless, here goes.”
***
Moral indignation is often jealousy with a halo.
Me:
Moral indignation.
Moral—whether something is good or bad.
Indignation—anger felt at something bad you’ve seen. Like someone being indignant at how much plastic isn’t recycled.
Annie chimes in, “‘And, jealousy with a halo’—because your nerd-ass wouldn’t ever skip a class.”
“Yup. Drive safe.”
